No Regrets, No Apologies, No Looking Back
by Helen Pattskyn
Summary: A collection of vingettets looking into the life of Sheldon Jeffrey Sands essentially a prequel to my story Life After Death. More inside.
1. Chapter 1

**No Regrets, No Apologies,**

**No Looking Back**

**

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****Author's Note: **

What follows will be a collection of vignettes which I plan to update from time to time as the Muse tap dances on my head.

The idea originated as a writing exorcise to get better into Sands' head by examining in a little more detail how he got to be the way that he is (IMHO, of course.) I'm not promising that anything will be in any kind of order (although I will clearly state when things are happening so as not to totally confuse you) or that this is going to get updated with any kind of frequency as Russian II is seriously kicking my butt!! Most of my free time is going towards Three Weddings – this is just for fun, but I thought I'd share.

As always reviews are always welcome!

The usual disclaimers apply – Sands isn't mine, I don't own him, I'm just borrowing him for a little while, but I promise to put him back where I found him and he won't be any the worse for wear for having been brought out to play. This is most definitely rated R. This piece contains adult and possibly offensive situations as well as a lot of smoking, drinking and swearing. After all, Sheldon Sands is the star.

* * *

---**ONE**---

_University of Virginia, Junior Year _

_1978 _

"Get off me you fucking pervert!"

Without a word, I shove her back down onto the bed – hard. Not that it could possibly hurt that much, but I don't think she was expecting it. I use the moment to get her wrists pinned together in one hand so I can pull the sash out of my bathrobe with the other – now not only do I have a handy little tie, but as an added bonus I am entirely nekkid under my robe, which is going to make the rest of this so much easier.

"I swear Jeff, if you don't let me up right now – "

"You'll what – scream?" I manage to get the sash around her wrists, despite the real good job she's doing of kicking at me – I insert myself in between her legs – no, not like that – not yet. No, I've just got myself situated so that she's not fucking able to kick me in the nuts. "You scream, I guarantee, you'll regret it."

"I'm going to tell Paul – "

I smirk. Paul Jenson. My room mate. Her boyfriend. Big guy. Athletic scholarship. I hate fucking jocks. I loop the free end of sash into the headboard and give it a good pull so her arms are stretched taut over her head before tying it tight. (Too bad I was never a Boy Scout – they give out merit badges for tying ropes, right? Heh – that would have been right up my alley.)

Her glare is defiant – mine is amused. "There. Much better – don't you think?" I begin unbuttoning her jeans while she squirms, trying to get away from me. Really, though, it's a pretty useless effort.

"I'm fucking warning you – stop – Jeff – God damn it, I mean it this time – ! Get off of me!"

"You always say that." However, to silence further objections, I lean in fast and hard and smash my mouth against hers, kissing her as hard as I can. When she fights me by trying to close her mouth, I grab her jaw bone between my thumb and forefinger, right at the joint where jaw meets skull. The main idea was to force her to keep her mouth open, but I've also got her head pinned which is making this whole kissing thing go much more smoothly. I'll have to remember this move for next time.

In very short order, she stops fighting and gives into the kiss. "God damn you – I hate you, I hope you know that," she whispers at me, out of breath, when I finally withdraw from her mouth.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah – you always say that too." I peel the skin-tight jeans away her thin legs. I'm not saying she's anorexic or anything, just that I prefer my women with a little more meat on their bones; there is definitely a reason I don't bother undoing that satin shirt she's wearing, either. There's nothing there worth the effort of unbuttoning the buttons. Fortunately everything I want is either below the waist or above the neck (and I'm not talking about that empty space between her ears, either. Although I'm hoping you've figured out by now that we're not doing this because I admire her mind.) "See, the thing is, Darlin' – you knew _exactly _what you were doing when you came down the stairs from the next floor," _wearing make up like you were going out somewhere special and those afore mentioned skin tight jeans and little satin blouse…_ she never dresses up like this for my room mate. I flash a wicked smile as I toss her jeans – expensive designer something-or-nothers – on the floor next to my bed (she's a fucking neat freak – I swear, she irons her fucking jeans before hanging them up on those hangers with the pincher things – you know so they're not folded over? Yeah, anal retentive is right all right. Heh – I've shown her the real meaning of anal a time or two already.) "You knew what you were getting yourself into when you knocked on my door – and don't you tell me that you came to see Paul. You knew he'd be in class." I slide my hand into her hair and wrap my fingers in it, holding on so tight she makes this soft little mew of protest – it only makes me pull harder. "The only question I have for you now, is are you going to cooperate, or am I going to have to spank you like last time?"

She swallows hard and seems to consider my proposition carefully. She knows damn well I'm not bluffing. The last time she fought me, she couldn't sit for two days and she had to be real careful with Paul for almost a week – not to mention her own room mate, who apparently doesn't realize we're screwing and might have a problem with it if she found out. Might have something to do with her and Paul being together for like two years. She's a senior, he's a junior, by the by – and oh what plans they've made for their lives… and I'm almost hoping she does fight me, because I enjoyed the way that every time he slapped her ass through her jeans ( he seems to think it's endearing) she had no choice but to think of me. Heh. I sit up and light a cigarette.

"What are you doing – he'll be back – "

"In an hour and a half. That's plenty of time," I tease. As I understand it, when they 'make love' he's in and out and done before she's even had the chance to breathe hard. "And just remember, if you misbehave, I'll make sure it's another week before you can sit down without squirming – but if you do behave – hmmm – if you do behave, I might spank you anyway, just for kicks. What d'you say?"

"I say I hate you."

"Good." I stamp my smoke out in the ashtray next to my bed. "Feeling's mutual." I kiss her hard, just because I know she hates the taste of cigarettes. Yeah, I'm a prick, but I'm a prick who knows just exactly what she likes. And believe me, there are things she's better at than almost any woman I've met and I make good and sure she accommodates my needs, because I'm really not banging her _just_ because she's my asshole room mate's girlfriend (although that does bring a certain amount of pleasure to the scenario and it is why I courted her in the first place.) I realize I'm being glared at because of course when a woman is good at – well, the obvious, please don't make me spell it out for you, that would just be in poor taste – but at any rate, when her talent lies in her mouth rather than between her legs, you can take a wild guess what I'm having her do right now and what the general result happens to be that might have upset her, because somehow despite what the guys behind the porn industry would have us believe, this doesn't quite do it for a woman. Imagine that (yes of course that was sarcasm – a guy would have to be an fuckmook to think a woman gets as much out of the act of performing fellatio as a man gets out of being on the receiving end of a really good blow job.) I smile down at the woman glaring at me, "If you really want it – well – hey – you know just what to do, now don't you?" I eye the clock – we've got about twenty more minutes. (Yes of course it's been that long and no of course it hasn't been all me. But no, that has nothing to do with being considerate or even giving the tiniest bit of a shit about her needs, I just want to make sure she comes back so I gave her all the incentive she could possibly want to do just that the next time Paul is out. Like I said, he's in and done and out before she's even breathing hard – me – me I have her gasping and writhing without even sticking it in and what she doesn't seem to get is how much I dig that kind of power or the fact that it has nothing to do with her satisfaction at all.) "Tick-tock – Darlin' – "

"Fuck you."

I just shrug, "Suit yourself – "

"Wait – please – damn it, Jeff – come on – Paul leaves me like this all the time."

"Do not tell me you didn't come. Repeatedly."

"It's not the same," she tries her best sad puppy dog eyes on me. _Boring… _However:

"I suppose I could be convinced to accommodate you – but you're going to have to ask me real nice. _Real_ nice." I smile a wicked, wicked smile, knowing she's going to do exactly as I ask and still be chomping at the bit to come back for more of my shit…

…She's just barely gotten her cloths back on and herself back together when Paul comes in (her panties, by the by are in my trophy drawer. I did that because I knew he was coming home and I knew he'd want to fuck and – and well why not let him think that she dolled herself up _just _to see him and even showed up without silk thongs on under her skin tight jeans – ?) She greets him with the kind of kiss you'd think would be a dead give away – guilt. She feels guilty for stepping out on him (I'd be surprised if this was really the first time, but I have actually been wrong before, at least once or twice – hey, nobody's perfect, not even me.) I catch her watching me out of the corner of her eye while he tells her about class, about how much he hates the teacher, about how much he hates school but his miserable parents are making him go…. I've heard it all before. And I make good and sure to smile my very best lascivious little smile at her when I'm sure he's not looking, too.

It doesn't take long for Paul to run out of things to say and shove me out the door so they can have a little privacy – in other words, screw. I just smile the whole time I'm being given the boot… I wonder if he'll ever catch on that he's getting sloppy seconds…

…. I stop by the gas station across the street on my way across campus. I need a pack of smokes and I stopped in here because this is the only gas station around campus that happens to carry the one thing I'm after. Flowers. I take my time and pick the two nicest red ones out of the bin by the register. They cost four bucks a pop, but that's ok. Some things are actually spending a little extra dough on.

Hassad, our middle eastern clerk rings me up with a smile and in a very thick accent asks to see my ID, for the smokes. You know, it's getting easier to buy beer than cigarettes… however, with a bright smile and a cheerful word in his own fucking language I flash my drivers' license. He takes a half a step back at my command of Farsi. Heh. I aced it last semester – it was just a first year class, but I am just getting so fucking sick of not being understood by fucking cab drivers and gas station attendants that I decided to do something about it. Proactive, that's my stance.

With another cheerful word and bright smile, I take my leave and head towards a row of big old houses just off campus; there's a light on in the bedroom (it's really not that late, but I might have just left the flowers on the stoop if that light hadn't been on.) I pick up a small stone and hurl it at the window… in just a moment a face appears – I smile and wave, holding up the flowers in a grand gesture – and I don't know why, but I really dig the way she giggles at me as she's waving me around to the back door.

"Jeff – what are you doing out at this hour – ?" she asks after the briefest but sweetest kiss.

"Just dropping by – " I hand over the roses. She blushes and smells them and ushers me out of the cold and into her kitchen. She lives alone in one of five little one bedroom flats in this house – it's small and she has to share the thermostat with one of her neighbours, but she her privacy, which is something I could do with a lot more of. I'd thought that the answer was moving out of my mother's house, but that proved to be an error in judgment. Not only have I had a short succession of sucky room mates, but I've got the RA's to contend with and they don't seem to like me. That's why I've decided that just as soon as I figure out a way to make ends meet a little better, I'm getting my own place. I've been surviving on scholarships and part time work so far but – well, I won't be a broke college student forever, it just seems like it some days.

Oh, and who is this woman in the warmth of whose kitchen I'm standing? No, she's not another anonymous fuck. Her name is Jessica Manning and she stands about five foot nothing and has these big blue eyes a guy could actually get lost in – if he was the kind of guy who could get lost that easily. She's got a great smile too, and the girl-next-door thing going on with long blond hair she usually wears in two pig tails and thing for flannel shirts – my flannel shirts, apparently. "This looks awfully familiar," I say with a soft smile and nod towards the shirt.

"You left it the last time you stayed over. I washed it for you – then I got cold – " she does innocent really well.

"Uh-huh," I just smile as if I believe her but really I'm sure she knows better.

"So what's the occasion?" She asks of the flowers – all she's got for a vase is an old glass soda bottle.

"Well," I ease myself in behind her at the sink and wrap both arms around her waist, drawing her close to me. I kinda like this – she's just the right height… no, get your minds out of the gutters, I just mean she feels just right, you know? She fits. I kiss the side of her neck, just under her ear, that spot that always makes her giggle – then I nibble at her earlobe and remind her that today, to the very best of my recollection at least, is exactly two months practically to the minute of us hooking up.

"I can't believe you keep track of things like that – you have got to be the sweetest man I've ever known."

And you know – I don't think anybody has ever said that to me before….

…………………………………………………………………………….….

..."I'd just like to know why the fuck you did it – that's all, Al – just why the fuck did you have to go and torpedo what might have been a real nice little thing?"

"Gee, I don't know, Shel, maybe something to do with the fact that she was in love with you and you were screwing around on her – "

"What the fuck was that to you?" We're on the back porch of our mother's little house – the little house where I guess it's safe to say I grew up, even if we didn't move here until I was in high school. Before that, we were never really in a place for more than a year, sometimes less. I light up a smoke.

"Give me one of those."

"Why the fuck should I?" Yes of course I'm angry at her – Jess wasn't anything to her – she didn't have to go and screw it up for me. I almost might actually have liked Jessica. A little bit.

"I did you a favour."

"Ex-squeeze me?" despite how pissed I am at my sister for telling Jess I'd been screwing around on her – and providing photographic proof of the fact – I light up a cigarette and pass it over. Al isn't old enough to (legally) buy her own yet. "How precisely did you do me a favour?"

"I saved you from doing even more damage to that very nice girl – _and_ from having to sneak around behind her back under her nose."

"Ok, now you've lost me – and besides," I add almost as an after thought, "It's not like I ever promised her anything. I never said 'it's you and only you' – fuck, I never even said that I loved her." I have, in fact, never said those words because it's something I've never felt. Something I'm sure I even want to feel. Maybe. It's just that love's a pretty fucked up emotion, it comes with all these strings and – and fucking baggage – and just all kinds of shit that I don't need right now. Besides, I'm not even sure love is real – I've seen what it's done to my mother, pining away after the jerk who left her high and dry, a jerk who left his second wife in no better shape so he could go and screw around with someone else. No, I might've screwed around on Jess, but I never put a ring on her finger, I never promised her anything. We never even talked about it.

"I'm sure you didn't promise her anything, Shelly – but you brought her home for Christmas and that, my dear brother, means something to girl."

"I brought her home for fucking Christmas so Mom wouldn't thrown – what's her name – Peggy-Sue – "

"Patricia Summer – " her tone is one of pure exasperation.

"Whatever, I didn't want Mom throwing that cow at me again."

"She is not a cow – "

"She chews her food like a cow chews its cud," I take a long drag off my smoke. Patricia Summers is Mom's boss's niece. She is by all accounts an attractive girl. However, I would rather have my fucking eyes drilled out than to go on a date with that half-witted cow, no matter how pretty it happens to be. "I think she might have the IQ of a cow, too – or maybe that's an insult to the bovine community, I'm not sure," I inform my sister. "So of course I brought Jessica home – she was supposed to be a shield, not think I meant something that I didn't happen to mean." It's hardly my fault she got the wrong idea –

"You are such a fuckmook."

"If you think Peggy-Sue Cow os such a good catch, why don't you go out with her – "

"I'm not talking about Patricia, I'm back to Jessica. Do you even realize that she was going to ask you to move into her place?"

I open my mouth to say – something – but – _"**What**?"_ Jess never even hinted – never – never ever brought it up – or anything up that might have maybe suggested she was thinking about bringing it up. We never even talked about turning what we were doing into any kind of – of _exclusive_ relationship… (I shove the little part of me that suddenly regrets some of things I said to Jessica in our last conversation back into its little box… no regrets. Never any regrets. No apologizes, either. No going back. Just – just I had no fucking idea she really – I mean you've gotta pretty much like somebody to want to ask them to move in with you, right?) "You're shitting me," I finally say the only words that I can seem to get out. She is – she's fucking shitting me (only I know my sister, I know when she's lying – I know she's not lying now.)

"You know, I might believe you didn't believe me if you didn't look so fucking gobsmacked. You didn't have a clue, did you?"

"How do_ you_ figure it out?"

"She told me. When she pulled me aside – she wanted to know – well for one thing, she was nervous as shit about that gift she got you, she was afraid you'd think it was too much – or that maybe she was moving too quickly – "

I'm still wearing it. It's just this leather and silver bracelet – it's nothing much but I guess from a chick-perspective any kind of jewelry could be considered moving too fast. Not that moving in wouldn't have been maybe moving a little fast – but I guess we've – we'_d_ – _had_ past tense – anyway, it started back in October – it's January now (yes, we're out here freezing our socks off, but Mom doesn't know Al smokes.) Anyway – yeah, I guess after four months of pretty solid dating it's ok to shack up… isn't it? I don't really know to be honest. It's never occurred to me to think about it before. Not that it matters now. And you want to know the funny thing, I'm not mad at Jess for dumping me. She gave me a chance to say that the whole thing with me and Paul's girlfriend – oh, right, sorry they're engaged now, it happened over Christmas, I keep forgetting that little detail (no it hasn't stopped me from banging her) – anyway, Jess gave me the opportunity to say it was a one time slip up. In fact, she practically begged me to promise it would never happen again – but – I don't know, in the moment I just couldn't lie… no regrets. No apologizes. No going back… Alison's blabbering:

"She wanted to know if I thought you'd actually do it – move in with her," Al takes a hit off her cigarette. She's been smoking since she was fourteen, and no, it's not my fault. I buy them for her, but I didn't get her hooked, she got hooked the same way I did, stealing smokes out of Mom's purse. "I think she really loved you – and – and I just wasn't going to let you screw up somebody else's life."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing Shel. Absolutely nothing."

But before I can query further, my sister's pitched her butt and up and in the house and – and I'm just not in the mood to trail after her.

It's moot anyway. When Jess asked me if how long I'd been banging Paul's girlfriend, I told her the truth. When she asked me if I would stop – well – how was I supposed to know that it was some kind of precursor to her asking me to move in with her? So of course like the idiot I am, I told her the truth again, that no, I had no real intention of stopping my extracurricular activities and I did make it pretty clear that my roomie's girlfriend wasn't the only woman warming my sheets. I guess I didn't really mean to be a prick about it – I was really just being truthful – that's what she started the whole conversation out with, how she just wanted me to tell her the truth.

"But the real truth, fuckmook," I say to myself, taking a long last drag of my smoke, "Is that she wanted you to lie to her." Right. Lesson learned. Two of them, actually. Number one, never bring another girl home ever again, even if it's to avoid barnyard animals disgusting themselves as human beings – and number two never believe anyone who says they just want you to tell them the truth. What they really are asking for is to be lied to. "And I can do that."

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When theres no more looking back  
And you feel youve loved in vain  
You try and hide your sorrow  
Now youre alone again  
So you block out your emotion  
Laugh it off and carry on  
Sayin why do I have to feel this way  
Was loving you so wrong

If I could only turn around  
One more time for old times sake  
I'd pick up all the pieces  
From the mistakes I made  
Did I give myself completely  
Or did I hang on for too long  
Ah, but whats the use of me talking this way  
Now that youre gone

No looking back, its over now  
All over now  
I tell myself I'm glad  
Its over now  
All over now  
Its over now

But if I ever love again  
Oh, I won't be played a fool  
I'll put in my performance  
This time I'll know the moves  
Its not that Im feeling bitter  
Ive no bitterness to show  
And all Im really trying to say  
Is that I wish Id never let you go

Leo Sayer

(Tom Snow – co-writer)


	2. Chapter 2

**No Regrets, No Apologies,**

**No Looking Back**

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****Thank you for the reviews!! Wow four of them - :) **

I'm not writing these in any particular order - I hope that doesn't throw anyone off too much... and I apolozize for typos in advance, my computer crashed and I'm working on my husband's, which is better but harder to work on... however, Powers that Be willing, I'll have a new computer up and running some time next week. In the mean time...

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---**TWO**---

_Happy Birthday_

Shiney. New. Bright red paint and gleaming silver chrome and on the side crisp white letters S-C-H-W-I-N-N. That spells Schwinn. A brand new cherry / apple red Schwinn bicycle and it even has a bell! I'm just about to step close enough so I can touch it when -

"There you are!" My mother's angry words burst the bubble of my day dream, the one where I'm riding down a hill at top speed on that brand new bike. A Schwinn bike. A bright cherr / apple red Schwinn bike with gleaming chrome... but it's only a day dream.

"Come away from there before you knock something over! I can't afford to pay for something you break."

"You know my birhday's coming up," I try for the sneaky approach. If I jusgt ask her for a bike I'm likely to get dragged out of here by my ear.

My tactic works. Sort of. Mom's features soften. "Yes, Sheldon, your birthday is coming up, I know that." She glances at the bike - and - maybe - maybe?

Oh man, what I wouldn't give to have that bike... I can see myself riding so fast nobody could catch me, not even Jimmy or Mike or Jason or any of those guys who threw me off the playground yesterday - and - and mabye if I had a bike like that, maybe some of those other guys might even want to be my friend, guys like Doug and Harry. I like those guys. They're neat - they trade baseball cards and last week Doug even let me look at his. I don't have baseball cards. (I don't really like baseball but it would be nice to have some baseball cards, just so I could trade with those guys. I don't even care if I get anything good, I just want something they want, so I can have somebody to hang out with on the playground at school, so those other guys can't say how nobody wants me around, and baseball cards don't cost that much either. At least it doesn't seem like they do, but Mom's always saying they cost too much, just like the comic books I like to read, so I have to sneak in and read them when the guy who runs the store isn't looking. He doesn't like "lookers not buyers'. Sometimes I only get to read a page or two before I have to skeedaddle - sometimes I never get to read the whole comic. I hate it when that happens.) But right now my mind isn't on comics or baseball cards or even my skinned knees or how everybody laughed when I cried, even Doug and Harry - right now the only thing on my mind is that bike... I wish Mom would let me ring the bell on it just once... I've never had a bike before and red is my favourtiest colour.

"We have to go now," Mom says in this real gentle tone and I'm suddenly very sure she's going to get me that bike. A guy doesn't turn eight every day, you know. Maybe that's why she didn't want to buy me those comics or baseball cards, because she was saving up for this - that's gotta be it. She said we was moving here so she could get a better job, and at least this apartment has its own bathroom. I still have to sleep on the couch - Mom made up this new rule a few months ago that me and Al can't share the same bedroom. I don't know why. We've always shared a room... well, almost always, but that time before doesn't count. Nothing counts before we had to move out of our house because Dad left us... but who needs him anyway? I've got Mom and next week when it's my birthday, you're going to see me cruising downn the street on my brand new shiney red Schwinn!

* * *

Doug and Harry didn't come. 

Nobody came.

Nobody but that awful Bill from next door. He's so fat I'm surprised he could make it in our door - but I guess when there's cake involved where there's a will there's a way, even if its Mom's cake. (Maybe some day I can have a cake from the bakery like Lizzy had - she's a girl from my old school. My old, old, old school - like four moves ago now. I ddin't like her, but her mother made her invite thewhole class and my mother made me go. It was the worst day of my life, except that she had this swell choclate cake that came from the bakery and I didn't even care that the frosting was all pink and girly and junk.)

But like I was saying, Doug and Harry couldn't make it. Boy won't they wish they had, though, when they see me riding down the street on my brand new bike. I just hope Mom doesn't make me let Bill have a ride - he'll squish it flat if that happens. I just have to distract him wiht more cake when the moment comes, that's all.

Bill and his mother sing happy birthday along with my mother and my sister, Al - that's short for Alison. I guess I shouldn't mentioned that before. She's six.

Al has made me a great big card out of construction paper she must have snagged from school and cut outs from the Sunday comics - all my favourites. I love my sister. This is almost as good as the bike i'm going to get.

Next Mom makes me open Bill's present. A cheap plastic chess set. How lame. But I manage to smile anyway and I even lie and tell him that I'd love for him to come over and teach me how to play.

And then I wait.

And wait.

And - wait

And Bill starts telling me about the chess set and I have to pretend like I care.

I wonder why Mom hasn't brought out my bike yet. I want to show it off, even if it's just to Fat Bill from next door (I know Mom says that's a rotten thing to call him, but when the shoe fits... Oh yeah, and Bill is three years older than me and _no body_ likes him because he's fat and he smells funny. Maybe if we're still living here when he has a birthday I'll buy him a bar of soap)

Finally, Bill's mother says they have to go.

B ut I still haven't gotten my bike.

But I'll bet she didn't want Bill to squish it. That's all. Yeah. That's it. She didn't want to spend all that money on a brand new shiney red bike just to have Fat Bill from next door squish it.

She asks me to give her a hand in the kitchen - and of course - she wants to surprise me! She's going to have me bring the dirty plates in and - and - and it's not in the kitchen. _Well duh, Duffus-head - if it was in the kitchen you'd've seen it already. _Right. Of course. "You want me to take the garbagge out?" I ask - I'm sure it's on the back stoop. We have our own little back door - she probably hid it out there so Bill wouldn't see it and get jealous and want to take it for a spin. Then I'd have to say yes and it would get squished...

"You're so sweet, Shelly - there isn't much - but I suppose we don't want roaches."

Eww. I'll say. But I just want my bike. It'll be dark soon and I want to take it for a spin before I have to come in for bed.

With absolute certainty of what I'm going to find on the back stoop, I gather up the garbage and head out and - the stoop is empty. Did somebody steal it - ?

It was Jimmy. Or Mike. Or - or Jason.

Or maybe even Doug and Harry! They saw her bringing it home and they wanted it so they took it - !

"Shelly?" Mom comes out the back door - "What on earth is the matter?"

"You have to call the cops - somebody stole my bike!" I bawl at her. "Jimmy or Mike or - "

"What on earth are you going on about - what are the neighbours going to think? Come in here this instant before I really give you something to cry about."

"But - my bike -"

"Sheldon Jeffrey Sands, I do not know what you are going on about, but you'd better stop it this instant!"

"But - Mom - what about my bike?"

"Oh for Heaven's sake - you're eight years old, don't you think it's time you started acting like a man instead of a little baby? Now get inside right now. I need you to wash the dishes while I get your sister cleaned up for bed."

"But - my bike," I try my best to stop sniffling.

My best isn't good enough. Only I know if I cry just because she smacked my face, she'll only get the wooden spoon and take it to my behind - and besides, it's starting to dawn on me that there is no bike. She didn't get me anything... all I'm getting for my eighth birthday is a handmade card from my sister and a lousy chess set.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: I've decided that Jessica needs a "face" – Jennifer Lien, of Voyager fame.

* * *

---**THREE**---

_Slow Roasted Pork_

"Hey there, Sugar – coffee?"

I offer up the sort of smile I imagine most women find charming, "Love some thanks – Sugar."

She titters in a silly, girlish sort of way and pours me a cup. "You need a menu – or ah – you see somethin' you think you might like to try?"

I let my smile deepen, "I think I'll have the roasted pork. Thanks." I wink. She smiles. "Oh – say – y'all don't happen t'have any cherry pie, do you?" I add. "For desert."

"I think I just might have some in the back," she wiggles her ass in my face as she goes to get my pork…

Pork. I have never appreciated it until today. I mean that.

Really, if you think about it the so-called other white meat has been thoroughly maligned by the American Heart Association for it's high fat content – yeah, as if you've _never_ seen any fat Jews. Not that I think there's a great big whopping Jew population out here in – where the fuck am I again? Oh yeah, just the other side of the Kentucky boarder. But don't worry, I'm dressed like a local, so I fit right in.

And just what is this city boy doing slumming – well, that my friends is quite a story. It all started three weeks ago on a lovely spring day, a perfect day in fact for a wedding…

…………………………………………….

I look over the place cards on the table I've been assigned to – number nineteen of twenty, don't I feel special – and I smirk around my cigarette. "Somebody has a sense of humour – probably the bride." My room mate's girlfriend. Er – fiancé. Well – I guess his wife now. Ceremony should be just about ending by now – I ducked out of the church early to come check out the country club – never been in one of these things before. Let me tell you, they are highly over rated. I couldn't even get a decent beer at the bar.

"Jeff – ?"

I force a smile and pull the shades off my face, "Hey, Jess."

"Well – I see Anna hasn't lost her sense of – irony."

I just smirk some more. The bride. Paul's wife.

"You're still doing her, aren't you?"

"Not at this very moment. How's it been?"

She shrugs. And winces.

I can see her try to cover it but I'm pretty good at reading body language. I don't say anything about it though. "Can I get you a drink?" I offer.

"No. I'll take a cigarette though."

"Thought you quit," I pull out my pack and feeling rather gallant – or at least a little smug – I light it before I pass it over to her, watching the way she favours her left side just a little as she takes it – the way she won't quite meet my gaze.

"I started up again. You taking a survey or something?" her tone is harsh – but it's covering up something else and I'm really not so full of myself that I think it has anything to do with me. Her tone changes again, though, "It's been a while – are you – you know – here with anybody?" what she really wants to know is if I'm seeing someone.

I just shrug. "You know me."

"Yeah. I sure do."

"You – seeing anybody, I mean – ?"

"Yeah. I am." Her tone is lukewarm at best.

"He here?"

She takes an awful long drag off her smoke, "No. You know – I think I'd like a drink after all – I'll get my own. Thanks." Her tone has gone from lukewarm to ice cold….

….. Six or seven vodka martinis later has me and Jess dancing to some sappy Journey song. Her body still feels – perfect – next to mine. We're dancing close – and I didn't push the issue, this was all her. She leans into me and – yeah. Man. She can still get to me without even fucking trying. (I'm sticking to my beer, by the by. I've had two. I'm not sure what Ms. Manners would have to say, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to get blitzed before they've even cut the cake.)

Jess lays her head against my chest and – for just about three seconds – yeah. It feels real good to have her next to me like this. She fits just exactly right against me – it's like all her curves fit just exactly into mine like we were cut out of the same mould or something… I take in her scent and it finally hits me what's been bugging me. I mean really, really bugging me – only it gets real hard to think when she wraps her arms around me and digs her fingers into my back the way she used to when we made love… so for the rest of the song, I let my mind drift back to that place. "You've changed your cologne," I finally get around to murmuring as one sappy slow song slides into another.

"Chuck didn't like the other stuff."

I did. She always smelled like wild flowers or – or I don't know, what do I know about shit like that, I'm a guy, I just know that I liked the way she smelled just as much as I liked the way she fit against me. "So where's this Chuck tonight, anyway?"

She goes stiff – it doesn't last long but – but I file it away for later, just like I've filed away a bunch of other little things she's said or done over the course of dinner away in the back of my brain for later. Jess makes some lame excuse about him having a big game – he plays baseball it seems. He thinks he destined for the pro's – who knows, maybe he is. All I know is she's back to hanging onto me so I wrap my arms around her and hold her close for no other reason than it feels good.

The song finally ends and something with this obnoxious disco beat comes blaring over the speakers, practically blasting the petals off rose bushes around the reception area. "Disco is alive and well," Jess laughs, practically falling into me.

I laugh with her and guide her off a ways from the dance floor and the reception area where we can get a little air. We find a bench near the little man made lake that separates the "flower gardens" from the golf course. "Can you get over this place?" I ask; I'm suddenly not sure what I want to say, I just know I want to say something because I like being with her and I've got these little knives tap dancing around in my gut and I just don't know why…

Jess just shakes her head and – smiles – this – this amazing bright smile up at me and her smile – makes me feel so alive inside and – _over and done with, fuckmook. Water under the bridge. _Yeah. Water under the bridge.

"You ever think about us, Jeff?"

I shrug and pull out my cigarettes. "Not really." Of course it's a lie. I don't obsess or anything but – I'm thinking about us right now and I know that counts. "You?"

"Once in a while."

"So how long have you and this Chuck been going out?"

"I don't want to talk about him."

"Oh?"

"Oh," she plucks the cigarette from my lips and kisses me. I mean – really fucking kisses me. And it has got to be the vodka, because one thing Jess has never been is forward – which isn't to say I'm not kissing her back for all I'm worth. "You don't ever think about that?" She takes a hit off my smoke before putting it back in my lips.

"I – guess – once in a while. You ok?"

She just shakes her head, "Yeah. Sure. Peachy."

"Come on, Jess – talk to me – what's going on here?"

"Why do you care – you're still fucking the fucking bride," she keeps her voice down but her tone is – angry. Hurt. It reminds me of our last conversation.

"I guess you're right. I don't care," I stand up to leave. I don't need this shit –

"Wait – Jeff – " she catches my pant leg and when I look down – I see the tears. They're not falling but – they're there, brimming up in her eyes – her gorgeous eyes that used to look up at me – or down at me – ever time we made love – she never closed them the way other chicks do... "Would you ever – consider – maybe – giving you and me another shot?" and there is such hopefulness in her tone – in her face – I – I actually think about it for about half a second. But then I pitch my butt, right into the roses and offer up a cold hard smirk:

"Why would I? I'm still fucking the fucking bride, remember?"

"You're such a pig," she sobs at me as I walk away.

Yes, yes I am… a real pig.

I find Anna and say my good-byes – and I _really_ wonder what Ms. Manners would have to say about that, too… while she's straightening herself back up, I slip out to make a stealthy exit and I've just decided I'm in the clear when Paul spies me – he and the groomsmen were having a toke out behind the valet shack. Yeah, what a class act is right.

"You're not leaving already are you?" Not only is he high, he's a good three sheets to the wind.

"Sorry – I gotta go – "

"Come on Jeff – the party's just getting started – you want some'a this? It's good shit, man – "

I just smile, "I've had about all the fun I can take for one night but – give Anna a kiss for me," and I make my exit.

………………………………………………………….

It takes about two weeks to put it all together – Jess hooked up with Chuckie boy a couple of months after dumping my ass. No, I didn't keep tabs on her – in fact, I did my best to steer away from her, even going so far as to go out of my way rather than take the short cut that would put me near her apartment or – or anywhere where I knew she liked to hang out. I wanted my space, that's all.

So – as I was saying, I put it together that she and this Chuck guy got together a couple of months after she dumped me and then I found a couple of other girls he used to date and – yeah. I was right. It takes me very little time to decide what I'm going to do with my new found knowledge because I have truly zero tolerance for bullies. And as it turns out, implementing my little plan takes even less effort than I'd thought…

…. I pay off Chinquitta – or whatever the fuck her name is – she's not much more than a two dollar whore and I didn't even have to set that up. He went and found her all on his own and I just had to make my move…

She thinks I'm playing a prank on my ol' pal Chuck here. The joke is on him. (And I'm in disguise just in case Chinquetta here hears about a missing local boy - a curly wig, dark glasses and fake stash make me feel pretty good that I won't easily be recognized as me.)

By the time Chuckie boy wakes up – neatly trussed and gagged in the trunk of the car – we're across state lines. By the time we reach our destination, I'd wager he's worked himself into a good panic. I'm sure it only gets worse when I drag him into the cabin I've rented and deposit him in the middle of the plastic drop cloth that I've taped to the floor…

I suppose in the name of good taste, I should spare you the gory details – suffice it to say by the time I'm through, he's more than learned his lesson and would – were I to give him the chance – never touch Jess or any other woman ever again. But some people just do not deserve second chances.

And you know, I remember reading in some spy novel or another that the first time you kill someone is the hardest, but really, that was no trouble at all. In fact the only thing that proves at all difficult is the disposal of the body – but I'm out in this particular little patch of fucking nowhere'sville entirely on purpose. See, there's a pig farm just a few miles from here. And when I say pig, I don't mean sweet little Wilbur or Arnold Ziffle. I mean PIG. Big, huge, honking, ugly, smelly swine, and swine as you may or may not know will eat just about anything…

Over the next couple of nights I go and feed the piggies a little bit at a time just in case human is as bad for them as pig is for us. Wouldn't want to give the big ugly guys indigestion or anything…

Freezer and hack saw, in case you're wondering. Crude, but it worked. It's amazing the things you can get out of cheesy spy novels...

Chuck's personals go into the fire along with my cloths and everything gets scrubbed down with bleach. And it turns out Chuckie's got enough in his wallet to not only cover the cabin rental but for me to pay for a mighty fine local-raised pork dinner on my way home. Now if that isn't just fucking irony, I do not know what is….


End file.
